How Covid gave me game.

In March of last year, COVID shut everything down…including my one-man consulting company. Clients’ attentions were justifiably diverted to more pressing matters and I suddenly found myself with little to do.

Stuck at home, I found ways to occupy my time. I finished my second novel (just published!). I power-washed the fence, bought a paint sprayer to re-stain the wood, and built a platform for my shed. All great projects but once completed, I again had little to do.

I had been a sometime videogame player, dabbling with my kids as they grew. They introduced me to a PlayStation game called Call of Duty and I was impressed by its graphics and attention to historic detail. I ended up buying a console and each new version of the game.

One night I stumbled on a game called Dogfight. Set in the Call of Duty World War II Universe, players take to the skies above the Crimean Mountains and Egyptian Sands in simulated aerial combat. Up to 12 players are assigned to two teams, flying for either the allies or the axis powers in authentic looking planes — Messerschmitt BF-109s for the Germans and P-47 Thunderbolts for the allies. The German planes are slower but carry better munitions. The Thunderbolts are faster and more maneuverable.

I loved it. It’s fun barrel-rolling through the skies and chasing down enemy planes, but clearly some players are better than others. I regularly ran into a team of players that touted themselves as “Top 5.” I know this because they adopted clan tags that said, “Top 5.” They are really good and sport names like “Maximus,” “Lundy” and “Happy Killmore.” Any one of them in a game made it pretty one-sided for us newbies, but they still banded together in team play — even when there was no competition. Then it became tough just to stay alive. Matches often ended up with lopsided scores like 35–4.

They were unrepentant about this, responding to complaints with, “play better,” and “practice more.” After a while, I too began to protest — not orally of course, I didn’t own a headset and microphone — but by creating my own clan tag called, “Not 5.” This garnered some attention among other pilots and I was celebrated for my sense of humor if not my flying ability. I discovered that the good players belonged to teams sporting their own clan tags. There was “F.C.” for Flight Club, “G.R.” for Grim Reapers, and “AirW” for Air Wolves. Each of the teams had a community board for players to post scores and communicate. An overall board called “League of Aces” allowed everyone to participate.

I usually signed on at 5:30 p.m. and played until dinnertime, sneaking in extra games during the period intermissions of Capitals hockey games. After a while, I recognized regular players: SkellyJelly, REM, Entelechy Agent, Baddadio, GrundleCheese, Iceman, IMShady, Dark Soldier, CreepMode, and Six-shooter. Some brave souls use their real names. I’m PappaJoe, the name my grandchildren call me.

Oddly enough, all of these players are adults. Most come from the U.S. and Canada, but a few hail from Australia, Germany, Italy and France. They chat between games, sometimes talking trash, but mostly just catching up and complimenting each other. Many are clearly friends. One pilot posted, “I’m a guy who is looking to relax and have some fun. That’s all I expected. Didn’t plan on making friends…”

I got better with time. Not as good as any of the names above, but on occasion, I could help sway a game one way or another. I learned how to evade someone on my tail and to fly using the entire scope of the battlefield. I’m much better with the German planes, but apparently so is everyone else.

I found that by friending the better players, I could join their games (as opposed to being assigned at random) to seek out better competition. The reverse is also true, and I have to admit, I got a slight rush when someone reached out to invite me in.

And then, I got asked to be on one of the teams.

It was like being a kid again and picked to play with the older boys. I was worthy. At least AirW thought so. I promptly redid my clan tag and became an official gamer.

Being part of a team requires a different level of commitment. Because the clans often play against other teams, they talk to each other during “combat.” I couldn’t do that until I bought a headset and microphone. Like a smoker buying their first carton of cigarettes, I knew this was a big step. I hesitated, questioning whether to go that far.

But I did. And it opened up a whole new world; I could chat with other players, ask questions about maneuvers and banter between games. The only downsides were the eyerolls my wife gave me when I said something lame like, “nice flying with you!”

About this time, my children, now married adults, found out I was a gamer. Just the sight of me with headphones on and controller in hand brought gales of laughter. It was hard to explain that in our socially-distanced world, it was nice to have another outlet other than Zoom.

Then came the tournament. Each of the teams rotated six players over ten games to see who had bragging rights. When I saw the lineup for AirW, however, I knew I was the weak link. I offered to serve as backup, but as good teammates would, they insisted I play.

It’s hard to describe the intensity of play when everyone is exceptional. It’s fast, furious, and exhilarating. Make one mistake and your dead. (You do “respawn” after a moment). The scores are always posted at the end, so your success and/or failure is clear to everyone. The tournament came down to AirW and G.R., but a disagreement over the rules caused one team to forfeit, so it was a win, but not a win.

Not too long ago, one of regular players, “Team Rookie” came down with cancer. As he struggled through chemotherapy many of the teams changed their clan tags to “TEAM” to show solidarity. As time went on, it became clear that Rookie wasn’t going to make it. And, although he still played, he was clearly struggling to stay in the game. After a while, he hardly scored at all.

When he died, his teammates posted his real name and his obit online and we all mourned his passing. I was impressed by how much people could care for someone they actually had never met.

My wife calls nightly from the kitchen and I sign off at dinnertime, not wanting this newfound obsession to become a point of contention in my marriage. I rarely sign back on after dinner, but occasionally before going to bed at night, I’ll check in to see who is playing. There is always a group flying.

PlayStation announced recently they are discontinuing community sites for PlayStation 4, I suppose in an effort to push us to PlayStation 5. A lot of the players have resisted buying it, content with the game as it is. We’re worried that Dogfight will be discontinued. It would be a shame as I’m constantly seeing new players appear. As a consequence, the League of Aces has moved to Instagram to allow players to communicate.

As for me, I’ve been vaccinated; my clients are calling, and it looks like life is returning to normal. I don’t know if players will still play after our long quarantine is over. It’s not something we talk about. But for now, I’ll keep signing on at 5:30 p.m. to fly the not-so-friendly skies and grouse about Top 5 players teaming up even though there aren’t enough good players to compete against them.

It’s what us gamers do.

J. Boyce Gleason is the author of the award-winning The Carolingian Chronicles.